


The End and The Beginning

by RandomTVJunk



Category: IT (2017), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Adult Eddie Kaspbrak, Adult Richie Tozier, Angst, Established Relationship, Forgetful Friends, Homophobia, M/M, Mentions of Violence, Not Canon Compliant, but richie and eddie are the main focus, set after...all of it, this will eventually include most of the group
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-19
Updated: 2019-08-20
Packaged: 2020-09-07 16:18:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,537
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20312416
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RandomTVJunk/pseuds/RandomTVJunk
Summary: After the final battle is over - Richie and Eddie, remembering and forgetting, but never being apart.





	1. The First Last Night

“Sweaty Eddie,” he teased, licking the taste of Eddie on his mouth.

“No Sweaty Eddie Spaghetti? Losing your touch.” Eddie muttered into Richie’s chest hair, stopping for breath.

“_Trying_ to be mature here…”

When Eddie only responded by suckling one of the nipples hanging out of the shirt Richie hadn’t bothered to take all the way off, he knew maturity was out the window.

He pinned Eddie against the floor, his hands steady on Eddie’s wrists, just the way Eddie liked it.

“Eds…” he whimpered, between deep kisses and fumbling removal of clothes, as he let himself look at the man he loved, the wrinkles on his forehead and around his mouth that he had a supply of creams for. Those sad brown eyes, so full of secrets neither of them would ever fully understand. His lithe body, straining, heavy breaths from the workout he’d just had and from the workout they were about to have. His smile, so hesitant, but bright, beautiful.

They were supposed to be having dinner with Beverly, Ben, Mike and Bill - a big boozing feast for finally driving a stake through Pennywise's black heart, and to say goodbye to Stan while they still could. To say goodbye to each other while they still could. 

Instead, Richie was catching his breath, watching Eddie's chest rise and fall. Still in disbelief his dreams, the good dreams, were real. 

"Almost lost you," he'd mumbled to Eddie on the way to Eddie's room. "Fucking idiot," he'd muttered, affectionately, at the fading memories of Eddie with the inhaler, saving their lives. Relying on jokes and pushing away to avoid saying the rest. _Won't lose you again. Stay with me. Always._

Eddie's hand had rested on his door key, nervous and still, unable to look at Richie the whole car ride back, as if he'd been waiting to hear the right words.

_"Eds,"_ was all Richie had managed, resting his hand over Eddie's hand.

Eddie had breathed_"_dumbass" into his cheek, pulling him into the kiss neither of them had expected to live to experience.

They'd been on the floor for hours since then, still dirty and cut up from the caves, hair still drying from their celebratory swim. 

"I-I can't believe..." Richie said, running his hands down Eddie's hipbones, his body trembling at the contact. He hoped he'd never forget the way Eddie had trembled when he'd stripped down to his boxers, white and just as immaculately cut as the man who filled them out, now crumpled somewhere behind the mini-fridge. How scared Eddie had looked as he'd stepped out of them. How his gasp at the sight of the full perfection before him had made Eddie well up. 

_How does he not know how perfect he is?_

"You're so fuckin' gorgeous..."

Eddie blushed.

Richie looked down at his own physique, cheap, easy quip about his flab ready until Eddie's hand covered his belly.

"So are you, dickbreath..." he kissed into Richie's temple, squeezing his bicep. "Wait...now you literally _are_ dickbreath..." 

Richie let himself laugh, laughed so hard he began to shake. He beamed when Eddie joined him, the sound of Eddie's wheezing chuckles matched his exhausted giggles, the sound echoing against his chest.

He laughed so hard he wasn't sure how much was Eddie and how much was delayed reaction from all the shit they'd been through - not just him, or Eddie, but Bev, Bill, Ben, Mike...

He quietly cursed at how he'd almost forgotten Stan. 

He was already forgetting...

He hadn't realized he'd zoned out until he saw Eddie staring at him, worried. He reached over to kiss Eddie's hand, soft and sappy. He tried not to glower at the wedding band still on Eddie's finger. It hadn't felt that bad against his cock, he had to admit, but it looked so tacky - all flashy diamond and platinum, like something JR Ewing would wear. That wasn't his Eddie. 

He noticed Eddie watching him watch the ring.

Eddie's eyes went comically wide - if Richie could have found anything about this moment funny.

"Oh fuck. I'm still married."

Richie forced himself to roll his eyes, do the voice, put on the mask. 

"Yeah - what's _that_ about, anyway?"

He hoped his voice wasn't cracking as much as he was sure it had.

He was trying to not cry, _don't cry you piece of shit, just be happy with what you got, be happy Eddie's alive and can be with this chick who'll never deserve him, not that you deserve him, but you want him and fuck why can't you get what you want, try to forget, yeah you'll forget, but no, you don't wanna forget, no no no..._

Only when Eddie gently tugged at his hair, thumbs massaging his temples, did he hear his breathing slow and feel like himself again. Eddie looked at him with such tenderness. He took one of Richie's thumbs in his mouth, biting just enough to make him moan. 

"Do that every time I spazz out...or just let me borrow your peace pipe." 

Eddie flipped him off, but his eyes were bright and shining in a way Richie hadn't seen before. Like he was free. Like they were both free. Richie wanted to ask if he'd made Eddie feel that way, but he didn't think his heart, already on permanent somersault setting, could take the answer. 

Eddie's grin had turned to a grimace, leading both men to stare at his swollen fingers.

"Fuckin' shit water..." he grunted, as Richie finally realized he was trying to get his wedding ring off. 

Richie tried to help, but Eddie furiously shook his head.

"Need to do this myself...need..._FUCK_!!"

The ring flew off...landing in the middle of Richie's ballsac. 

"Even I couldn't have come up with that," Richie grinned.

"Yeah, because it was actually funny," Eddie jeered, playfully. 

"You can get away with that now only 'cause you can kick my ass," Richie continued, still giddy, and still way too soppy for his own liking. He ran his hand down Eddie's pecs and tight six-pack. "And don't tell me how you could always kick my ass." 

Instead, Eddie just kissed his forehead, pulled him into a tight hug. Richie climbed onto his lap, realizing, but not caring, how weird the contortions must look. The comfort made Richie vulnerable enough to say what he feared most.

"Just let her have everything," Richie whispered, forehead to forehead. "I'll give you anything you need. I'm rich, bitch." 

Eddie didn't pull away, thankfully, but he wasn't happy. 

"That's from a reality show, Eds." 

Eddie rolled his eyes. 

"Of course it is. That's not - I can't just give up all I worked on. Myra should get half, but -"

Richie felt numb, so numb that he didn't even realize he was starting to push away until Eddie brushed his temples again.

"Richie - I still want you. And I'll still be with you. I just need to fly out to tell her and see my lawy -"

"Don't you _get it_?" Richie squeaked, barely managing through a throat of tears. "You're gonna forget me as soon as you get on the damn plane! And even if you don't, I'll forget you. I will. I know I will." 

Eddie looked crushed, the return of his sad eyes enough to barely keep Richie from a full sob.

"I don't want to, but that's how it works. Do you think I ever wanted to forget all our friends? Forget...forget Stan? He was my _best friend_."

Eddie nodded, as numb as Richie now.

"O-or you, Eds? I've...I've been in assfuck, heartburst love with you since the first time I laid my four eyes on you. I'd never - I _never_ would've - "

Eddie cut him off with a deep kiss, saying everything he couldn't say in words.

"I never wanted to forget you either," Eddie finally said, calm and methodical, every word like ice about to crack. "If you're saying we should never be apart - "

"Only when one of us has to take a shit...unless you've picked up some serious kinks." 

They both laughed then, the laugh they desperately needed. 

Finally, Eddie cupped Richie's chin in his grip.

"I'll never leave you, Richie. We can go back to my place and pick up everything..."

Richie shook his head.

"You shouldn't just give up your place."

Eddie was sure. As sure as Richie had ever seen him.

"I've never really had a home. The only one I'll ever have is - is with you." 

Richie felt like his heart would burst out of his chest, like he was in Alien. He'd never been so happy, or so scared.

“I love you,” he muttered into Eddie’s ear as Eddie gently pushed him back onto the bed. 

He’d said it before, but he was saying it again. Fuck how he'd always wanted to say it, again and again and again. 

“You love me…_what?_ Shitface?” Eddie teased as he turned Richie on his side, nipped at his neck and shoulder blade and licked the marks left behind, blew at the damp, flyaway hair covering his ear. “Jizzrag? What’s it gonna be?”

“No, I…” he whimpered again as Eddie instinctively spooned him, just the way he needed, the way most partners never understood. He couldn’t make a joke of what he needed, and he didn’t want to. _“I…I love you.”_

He felt the tears on his cheeks, embarrassed and ashamed, at what a dumbass he was, soppy, a loser. He shut his eyes, not wanting to see how Eddie would look at him - realize what a pathetic mess he’d been lumped with.

He groaned, more desperate than ever, at the sudden sensation of Eddie’s tongue on his cheeks, kissing him to share the taste with Richie.

_“And I love you,”_ Eddie whispered into his ear, holding him close, slow and cautious as Richie began instinctively pushing back, craving more.

_"Why?"_ Richie heard himself asking, desperate, pleading.

That made Eddie well up again, tears warm against the bite marks on Richie's shoulder.

"I'm gonna show you every fucking day for the rest of our lives." 


	2. Eddie The Morning After

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eddie faces who he is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to anyone who's read or commented so far. I haven't written in a while and this is my first It so I know it's not going to be great. Sorry for the sluggish pacing as well.

Eddie wasn't sure if he was dreaming. 

He'd had nightmares ever since he'd left his mother behind - things too vague to remember, things he'd never wanted to remember. He wasn't a writer like Bill, or in love with history like Ben and Mike, or creative like Bev. Or funny and smart like Richie, currently a snoring, contented and very heavy lump on his chest. He'd only known two things - he had been good at getting to places (like straight out of fucking Derry), and he'd been good at overseeing every detail of a business because he'd had nothing else to care about anyway.

He resettled his stiff left arm, not wanting to wake his...his _Richie_ up just for some brief return of blood flow, and tried to piece together the flashes that had woken him up. Movie projector flashes, like when they were kids. The stench of the sewers. A gaping maw, straight out of those old Lovecraft books Myra's brother had given him because he "seemed like the weirdo type [ha ha ha]", full of razor blade teeth. His emergency inhaler, and screams -_ God, the screams_ \- and...Mike yanking him away just before the razor blade bite.

He remembered everyone dogpiling him after they'd made it out just before the explosion, his best friends - the only friends he'd ever had and knew he would ever have - cheering him on in-between the disbelieving of what they'd just done (again) and the quiet grief for who weren't there to celebrate with them.

He ran his hands through Richie's thinning curls, remembering how Richie hadn't been celebrating, how he'd been shellshocked, and every time Eddie had locked eyes with him, Richie had only been able to look on in awe. Richie had never said why, and Eddie knew he probably never would, but for all their bickering and playing, he knew what Richie couldn't put into words.

It had been Richie's screams that had sprung Eddie out of the fear of 40 crippling years. He would've helped any of his friends, died for any of them, all of them, but there might have been a second of hesitation. With Richie, he knew, and he acted.

_You were going to die for me, _Richie had told him, without ever saying a word. With every stunned glance from the first moment in the sewers to the last at his hotel door.

Eddie's response would've been "Can't you ever shut the fuck up."

He remembered - while he still could - just how many times he'd told Richie to shut up, told him he was gross, a freak. He hadn't meant it, and Richie never would have known.

Well he'd meant it, but he'd also liked it. Every second. He'd liked Richie. From the first time he'd called him "Eds" and told him how cute his shorts were and pulled his shirt out to let Eddie wipe his hands on it after the greasy hot dog lunches his mother could never know about. Now he knew why Richie had always looked so disappointed every time he hadn't been able to go with him and why every time he didn't, Richie would give him another annoying nickname. 

Richie was so much, _so fucking much_. Even now, away in dreamland, he was wrapped around Eddie with more legs and arms than humanly possible, gurgling into his shoulder, and hogging the covers. Not like Myra, who had her own room and her own bed, or his occasional hookups - they didn't share names, let alone anything else. 

A part of him had hoped Richie would just be another hookup. That once they got the sex out of the way, they'd be able to - he didn't know, be friends, or fuck buddies, or whatever it was supposed to be called. They'd know it was just pent up attraction and release and nostalgia and from being so damn amazed they'd just slayed the dragon.

Instead, it was the best - it was deliriously good. It was letting go but feeling safe, somehow. Eddie had never felt so safe as when he was with Richie. The familiarity of bickering and bitching. They were lovers now - nothing could be the same. He knew he should feel scared, like something between them had been broken, but he could never feel like Richie's head on his chest, his hand clinging to Eddie's stomach for dear life, was a mistake. It was...it was just right. And like some answer finally clicked into place.

It wasn't that Eddie hadn't known he was gay, or accepted that he was gay. He'd known for longer than he even wanted to remember - probably since the summer that had brought them all back to Derry one last time. He'd accepted it, bargained with it, like the years he'd bargained with all his pills and all the phantom illnesses. It was just - accepting and _accepting_ weren't the same. 

He hadn't really felt happy with who he was until Richie had been in his arms, his hands around Richie's shaft, his cock nestled at the crack of Richie's ass. He knew, from the few therapy sessions he'd attended before he chickened out, that he wasn't supposed to put so much focus on one person, one man, but if anyone wanted constant attention and validation, it was Richie fucking Tozier. 

Just for now, he had to be happy. He had to feel this while he still could, while he still remembered. 

He glanced at the old paper left on the nightstand. Generic stories no one gave a shit about. That's how it had always been. _Fake news_, he thought to himself before wanting to bite his tongue off. 

The corner of his eye saw a story of Bowers escaping. Flashes entered his mind of the switchblade, the searing pain as it had sliced deep into his cheek, the pure evil in his eyes, the fight...the shards of the broken bottle against his hand. The blood - Bowers' toxic blood - trickling against his bare chest, half-naked from when Bowers had ambushed him. 

He'd almost died. Mike had almost died. Richie too. God, he'd almost lost Richie twice...

He gingerly pulled himself out of bed, not wanting to wake Richie with his sudden shortness of breath. 

They'd killed Bowers. Snuffed him out. After everything he'd done to them, the beatings and the terrors. They'd taken him out. Not an alien or a monster, but a person. And it had felt good. He'd been terrified, more than he'd been in most of his life, but...proud. Like he was doing something. Like he mattered. 

He wasn't sure what that made him, but deep down he hoped he wouldn't forget everything. He wouldn't forget that he'd been everything his mother had never let him be. Brave and strong and good. 

After he used his inhaler, he managed to make it to the bathroom mirror, removing the dirty dressing. He cleaned the wound - it was healing faster than he'd expected, maybe thanks to whatever the fuck they'd been doing with all the supernatural, but he still worried about a scar. Myra would burst a blood vessel if - 

"SHIT," he hissed, partly from the cleaning and redressing, but mostly from the even more unpleasant realization that he had to deal with Myra. Saying they were over to Richie was one thing, in the heat of the moment, but they had a marriage, a business. How could he just leave? What if she wouldn't let him leave? What if Richie didn't want anymore than a quick "pump and dump," like he used to say all those summers ago?

Richie began to stir. The faint sunlight from the window made his chest hair gray, blonde or brown depending on which way he turned. Eddie could only smile, fondly. 

He caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror - at just how goofy he looked, his hair going everywhere and a stupid grin on his face. He barely recognized himself. He barely took the time to look at himself - really look at himself - especially so vulnerable, so naked - in all sense of the word. He liked how he looked. How in shape he was. How he carried himself. For the first time he didn't think of his body as something he had to take care of, had to keep in shape to avoid being like his mother - keeling over every time she tried to stand up. He saw his body, every leanly muscled inch, as something that gave him pleasure - and would give Richie pleasure. 

_You're disgusting,_ he heard his mother saying, from well beyond the grave. And just that thought made the image in the mirror start to distort, made him feel ugly, small. He felt short of breath, leaning against the cool sink for support. He heard Richie stirring.

He'd never gone to her funeral, never visited her grave - he hoped he'd somehow forget her. She was still there, still over him. 

Another wave of shame hit him, especially when Richie's eyes slowly opened. He blinked, repeatedly, before staring at Eddie...unable to form words. Eddie wanted to hug him, tell him this was real, they were real, but he was stuck. He thought of the few times he'd ever seen Richie without glasses, how vulnerable he always was, how soft. Like that time in the barrens when he'd dropped them in the gunk and begged for help. Bill had found them, smart and fast and good the way Bill always was. Eddie had been stuck then too - scared to help or to touch. Scared of anything.

She'd hated Richie, she'd hated all the boys. She'd had to have known what he was. Now he wondered, not for the first time, if Myra would be the same if he told her what he'd never been able to tell his mother - or himself, most of the time. That he was gay, and in love with another man, and nothing would ever change that. 

Something he'd felt so proud of only a few minutes earlier now made his stomach churn. He wasn't good enough for Richie. He'd led him on, used Richie to make himself feel better. And he hadn't even been able to do that right. 

"_Fuck you, bitch_," he spat at the mirror, at himself and at all the people who weren't there when he looked back but were still everywhere, taunting him, watching him, knowing who he was.

He noticed his dressing had come off, that the marks still there from Bowers.

He ran his fingers over the wound. His bravado was gone as he felt himself trembling.

He'd get an infection, he'd have to go in the hospital, he'd get _another_ infection, and...

"Eds, shh..." he heard, suddenly, and he realized he'd been crying along with shaking. "I've got you. I'm here, Eds. Love you so much." 

Throat choked with sobs, he tried to push Richie away, scared and unworthy, but he didn't have the strength. He didn't want to have the strength.

Instead, he rested his head on Richie's shoulder, and for the first time in a long time, he let himself go.


End file.
